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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27460090">Snowed In On The Moon</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626'>Morpheus626</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Queen (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 17:33:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27460090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hadn’t written a fic for the free space on my DL server Bingo Card...and I’m struggling to get myself out of this depression hole and write again, so maybe this little thing will do it. </p>
<p>Synopsis: Set during the 1976 A Night At The Opera USA Tour. Round the dates in the Midwest in February.  The boys are snowed in at a shitty motel, and that isn’t the worst thing ever, but isn’t it though?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Snowed In On The Moon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“There are worse places we could be stuck,” Brian reminds Roger. </p>
<p>Roger grumbles, and glares out the window of the motel at the quickly, thickly falling snow. “Really? Name them for me.” </p>
<p>Brian chuckles, watching as Roger turns from the window and drops onto the other bed.</p>
<p>“I wasn’t fucking joking,” Roger scoffs. “Are you going to name them, or not?” </p>
<p>“You’re in a lovely mood, aren’t you?” </p>
<p>Roger lets out something that sounds like a growl. </p>
<p>“Alright, I will. Under the ocean-” </p>
<p>“Don’t be ridiculous! I thought you meant places we could actually be.” </p>
<p>Brian nods. “If we were in a submarine, we could be stuck there.” </p>
<p>Roger sighs and drapes a hand over his eyes as he lays on his back on the bed, still wrapped in his fur coat, a leftover from the clothing stall he and Freddie used to run. </p>
<p>“Fine. Sure. Us, and our fucking yellow submarine. Where else would be worse than the American Midwest in a blizzard, then?” </p>
<p>Brian ponders for a moment. “The moon, if we didn’t have the right equipment.” </p>
<p>“Someone has some awfully big dreams,” Roger smirks. “Going to be the first man to do a fifteen minute guitar solo on the moon, Bri?” </p>
<p>“Only if you’re up there to do the first twenty minute drum solo.” </p>
<p>Brian dodges the pillow Roger tosses with a shout. “Don’t! We’ve no idea where those have been, if they’ve been cleaned...” </p>
<p>“People clean in America,” Roger laughs, then hesitates. “I mean, they must.” </p>
<p>They both pause the conversation long enough to create a ‘blanket’ over their beds made up of clothes too dirty to be worn again (that will be cleaned, eventually. When they find a laundromat, they swear.) </p>
<p>Roger shivers as they settle back onto their beds. “Never worried about bed bugs until right this moment, you know? And whatever else Americans have in their beds.” </p>
<p>“You presume they have different insects here?” </p>
<p>“At least some,” Roger replies. “You don’t feel all...I don’t know, like your skin is crawling, sitting here?” </p>
<p>Brian nods. “A bit. But where else are we going to go?” </p>
<p>Outside, the wind howls, and flakes seem to smack the glass of the window, as if upset to be falling. </p>
<p>“You’re the one with a list of worse places we could be,” Roger shrugs. “Make up a list of better places, and let’s go to one of those.” </p>
<p>“Home?” </p>
<p>“Not bad,” Roger remarks, wincing at a stain on the shirt he’s using as a pillow. “But somewhere exciting would be nice.” </p>
<p>“Home can be exciting!” </p>
<p>“Yeah, but you know I didn’t mean home,” Roger says. </p>
<p>Brian sighs. “Unfortunately, Rog, I can’t get us much further away from here. For a few reasons, but you know that.” </p>
<p>“I know,” Roger murmurs. “Still like hearing you talk about us being elsewhere though.” </p>
<p>“Even if it’s the moon, or under the ocean?” </p>
<p>A balled up shirt is the projectile this time, but that Brian bats away with a practiced hand. </p>
<p>“There is somewhere we could go,” Brian offers. “But it’s not going to be fun.” </p>
<p>“Ooh, really sell it to me,” Roger grins and bounces up off of his bed. “Where?” </p>
<p>“There’s a vending machine outside near the front of the motel, and I have...I don’t actually know how much American money I have, I haven’t really counted it, but we could go get something sugary and disgusting...” </p>
<p>“That’s outside,” Roger muses. “In the snow.” </p>
<p>“Astute observation,” Brian giggles. “Do we dare attempt it?” </p>
<p>“In a moment,” Roger says, and rifles through his bag of slightly-less-worn clothing. “Here.” </p>
<p>“Oh, Rog...” Brian hesitantly takes the old fur coat from him. “You brought more than one...” </p>
<p>“Case anyone else needed one, here in the frozen fucking tundra,” Roger says. “Might leave your wrists exposed, but we’ll get a decent portion of your torso covered, at least.” </p>
<p>Outside, they’re both grateful for the furs, as the wind whips snow and ice into their faces, against any bare skin. Anything less thick than the furs leaves them feeling naked and shivering. </p>
<p>It’s a slow walk, on incredibly icy concrete, to the front of the motel. </p>
<p>“Can machines freeze, do you think?” Roger ponders as they go, occasionally pausing to hold one another up as they slip on the worst patches of ice. “In something like this?” </p>
<p>“You mean you think we’ll get to it, and it’ll be so cold it won’t work?” </p>
<p>“I’m just saying, my end goals here were to get out of the room, and to get something to eat that’s objectively terrible for me,” Roger replies, snagging Brian’s arm as he slips yet again. “You and those fucking clogs; they aren’t made for this weather!” </p>
<p>“And yours are?” Brian laughs as Roger goes down onto his ass, sparkly pink Converse out from under him. </p>
<p>A moment later he’s down too, grateful that at least it was a slow set of falls. Nothing bruised but their asses and their pride. </p>
<p>“We should get up,” Brian prompts. The snow is cold under them, and he can feel it soaking into his trousers and curls. The fur, grotesque as it is, does an admittedly good job of keeping at least part of him dry and somewhat warm. </p>
<p>“I don’t know,” Roger sighs. “What’s there to go back to? The room, or the vending machine, and what else? Nothing.” </p>
<p>“Little dramatic,” Brian smiles. “I think there’s more than that, we just have to get through the night here.” </p>
<p>“Oh!” Freddie nearly trips over them, skidding to an awkward halt on the ice, somehow staying upright. “Are you two alright?” </p>
<p>“Afflicted by a need to be elsewhere, snacks, and the human condition,” Brian replies. “But otherwise, fine. You?” </p>
<p>“Was going for food for myself and Deaky,” Freddie says slowly. “How long have you two been out here?” </p>
<p>“Time isn’t real; who can say?” Roger mutters with all the emotion of an unsupervised theater major student in their first show, flopping sideways in the snow. </p>
<p>“The watch on your wrist could,” Freddie remarks wryly. “Shall I help you up, or leave you both here to freeze until the spring thaw?” </p>
<p>Brian takes the offered hand from Freddie, extending his own to Roger to create a chain, and in another moment, they’re standing again. </p>
<p>“I can’t feel my face,” Roger mumbles. </p>
<p>“Nor can I,” Freddie sighs. “What a lovely, absolutely horrible place this is, hm? People live here! All the time! By choice, even! Wild.” </p>
<p>“What in the fuck is ta-” is all Deaky manages to get out before going ass over teakettle into the snow as he storms out of his and Freddie’s room. </p>
<p>“Oh, Deaky,” Freddie tsks. “Let me help you, hang on.” </p>
<p>Freddie seems to have the best approach to the ice, sliding across the biggest patches in his platforms as if it’s the only way to cross them. </p>
<p>“What are you out here for?” Freddie asks as he helps John up. </p>
<p>“Wanted to see what all the noise was about; why you were taking so long just to get snacks,” John says. “What are these two out for?” </p>
<p>“Rude,” Roger scoffs. “Like we’ve been let out of prison or something.” </p>
<p>“Is that not what you would call this place?” Brian muses.</p>
<p>Roger nods. “Fair point. Still, manners, Deaky.” </p>
<p>“Manners,” John scoffs. “It’s fucking freezing out here, why are you lot standing around?” </p>
<p>“Excellent question!” Freddie says. “I can’t feel my face, hands, or co-” </p>
<p>“Fred,” Brian interrupts. “We may as well make it a group trip now.” </p>
<p>So it is, with Freddie as the oddly unaffected by ice centering piece, helping to hold the rest up as the slip and stumble. </p>
<p>“I fucking knew it,” Roger scoffs and slaps a cold hand on the vending machine, only to yank it away with a hiss. “Fucking metal burns to touch; what sort of fucking cold can do that?” </p>
<p>The machine in question did have snacks in it, when they had arrived a day earlier. It was only two nights at the motel, then on to the next city. In that time, someone has: A. broken the glass of the machine, B. stolen all the food, and C. the storm has filled it up with snow and ice, it being out in the elements rather than in an actual building. </p>
<p>There’s an unofficial moment of silence for their wasted trip, snow and ice coating hair and fur coats and leaving skin raw. </p>
<p>“We should get back,” Brian finally sighs. </p>
<p>“I’d like to try the moon instead,” Roger whimpers. </p>
<p>“What?” Freddie and Deaky ask in one voice. </p>
<p>The motel across from theirs isn’t visible any longer. Nor is the road, or most of the parking lot, for that matter. </p>
<p>There’s a sinking feeling in Brian’s gut that they won’t be leaving tomorrow. </p>
<p>“Me too, Rog,” he mutters. “Me too.” </p>
<p>Instead, they shuffle back to their rooms, bidding Freddie and Deaky good-bye, only to join them an hour later when the heat in their room ceases to work (not that it’s working in Freddie and Deaky’s room either, but they can accumulate more body heat with all four in one room.) </p>
<p>Outside, the snow falls and flies and piles outside the door until there’s no leaving for anything, let alone a trip to the broken vending machine or the moon. </p>
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